Chapter 18
Marlow
Strewn out on his desk like this, his legs kicked up and hiked partially back to give me a perfect shot of what I had to work with between his legs—his cock already glistening at the tip, balls drawn up tight to his shaft, and a pucker that clenched each time I pinched his nipples between my fingers—I was having trouble not ripping my own cargos down and gripping both of us in my hand while I rutted against him.
His fingers twitched above his head while he watched me, phantom movements left over from the desire to reach out to touch and being restrained from doing so in the process.
His chest quivered like a baby bird’s, pulling in short shocks of oxygen while I continued to play with what I was quickly realizing was his very sensitive body.
Every ghost of my fingers over his skin, or subtle caress along his inner thighs to circle back up to where his cock was resting against his belly, was making him squirm and twist on the desk, writhing with the need for me to keep going.
How long had it been since someone had him like this?
Laid out like a fucking all-you-can-eat buffet just ready to be swallowed up whole?
Funny, he was the one that was getting jealous when it should’ve been me after he’d whipped out that little nugget of knowledge earlier.
I’d admit, he surprised me with the getting tied-up bit.
Clearly, I’d been underestimating my dear director and had pegged him as more of a square than he actually was.
That was my bad. I’d misjudged him in a way I hated others doing to me.
I’d taken a few characteristics he’d shown me on that first day we met and let my imagination fill in the rest of the blanks before stamping it as ‘FINAL’.
Types like him, the kind who were wound a little tighter than normal, were the best to unravel. They always turned out fucking beautiful by the time you were done having your way with them and that satisfaction in getting them there was half the fucking fun of it.
I was curious to see how much of a freak he really was hiding under all those layers of professionalism he liked to dress himself up in.
What kind of nasty shit got him coming all over himself while gasping for more?
Clearly, the corporal punishment was doing wonders so far.
Having Blake spread out like this, with his stacks of important documents piled high next to his twitching body, just ready to be ruined by him getting off, got my own dick twitching in my pants.
The dichotomy between what we were doing right now and what he’d been up to less than ten minutes ago—being an actual responsible adult running a million dollar business—was staggering. The kind of irony that struck you days later after a full decompression.
While I wasn’t exactly going to apologize for having a hand in Blake slacking off on his duties, I’d take full responsibility for giving him a much-needed break he clearly needed.
I could sit back and look at him all day. Watch that flush slowly crawling across his chest, pinkening his skin, and see what other parts of him it’d soon manifest on.
He was such a fucking vision.
My hands itched to grab and squeeze every part of him. Leave my fingerprints bruised into his skin so that each time he stretched or reached for something, he felt the apparition of my hands still on him.
I worked my bottom lip between my teeth until it felt raw, using it to control the energy burning through my veins before I got carried away. I wanted this to be a nice and slow kind of ride, not like the ones where it was a thirty second ultra high and over and gone too soon.
Who knew what fresh bullshit tomorrow would bring and what regrets would come with it. Right at this moment, in the here and now, I wanted Blake to focus on what was right in front of him. To stop thinking so damn loudly that it drowned out everything else, including my hands on him.
Every shift of his eyes darting away from me, every downturn of those pouty lips the second I didn’t have him fully engaged, gave me a snapshot into what the chaos going on inside his head at all times was like.
The noise that was never going to let up if he didn’t allow me to get in there and turn the fucking sound system off.
He needed someone to force him into letting it all go, to table the responsibilities and the pressure for the time being, and let himself simply exist in the moment.
The world would keep on spinning regardless of how many papers he pushed, so why not make the most of it and enjoy the time outside of the mess for a while?
Another moan slipped out of Blake’s mouth, his lashes fluttering over his dark eyes, the second I trailed the back of my finger up the length of him.
He was a nice size, perfect for gripping in my hand while I railed him.
Too bad we were going to have to pivot in a different direction from that tonight.
I’d been looking forward to feeling his tight heat wrapped around me, seeing how firmly he squeezed me right before he came. It would happen one way or another before these next five weeks were up and I was being shipped off on a bus back to Ellington Heights.
Before coming here, Silas had taunted me about not bringing my own stash, ragging on me for thinking I was above my own hormones. It wasn’t like spending six weeks out in the woods was going to be a deterrent for my very enthusiastic libido, according to him.
At the time, I’d waved it off and told him to mind his own business.
What did he care if I got laid on my self-imposed sabbatical?
Now I was severely regretting my choices.
Like usual, Silas was right and I was the bastard too stubborn to admit it.
“Fuck. You—” Blake’s chest heaved. “You’re such a tease.”
A few beads of precum slowly drooled onto his stomach, a trail of pearly wetness creating a nice sheen against his flushed skin. I drew a shape around it, following the smattering of freckles he had peppering the spot.
Not just the bridge of his nose, then. Wonder where else you’ve got these.
“Where should I leave it, Blake?”
By now, it was quite obvious how much he liked all of this. I was a fool to think my first impression of him when I had him back in my cabin was all wrong. I’d gaslit myself into thinking I crossed the line when, in reality, I was only just scratching the surface of what he truly wanted.
How he liked to be treated in bed.
“I’m thinking it’ll go right here.” I gave him no warning before I moved down to his inner thigh and gathered the soft skin between my fingers and squeezed it tight into a pinch.
He nearly leapt off the desk with a choked gasp, his back arching far enough to contort him into an entirely different position.
The stack of papers closest to him tipped to the side dangerously, swaying with the movement just enough to push it right over the edge.
The pile exploded into a heap of a mess, individual pages launched across the small space between the desk and wall.
Oops.
Turning my attention back, I held his skin between my fingers until it turned a flaming red, mimicking exactly what I was going to do with that spot with my mouth in a second.
Blake rocked himself forward in response, his cock desperate for attention I wasn’t giving him just yet. Soon, though, we’d get there.
Letting him go, I split his thighs apart further, practically pressing them both down flush against the desk. His pink hole was taunting me, daring me to swipe a finger over it to test how tight he was. “Maybe I should leave a mark right where everyone can see it.”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” His thighs were trembling in my hands while he goaded me. “You’d love it if someone pointed it out and asked me about it and I had to make up some excuse to throw them off the trail.”
Yeah, I fucking would.
That shit would have me preening like a damn cockatoo. Loudly and obnoxiously.
Normally, I wasn’t the type to care for marking up my bedmates. It wasn’t that I found the practice distasteful, I simply didn’t care enough to show the world who the person warming my bed was.
They weren’t mine to keep, so why go through the hassle of pretending like they were?
This thing with Blake was different, though. The little flashes of anger, the barely hidden envy for something he didn’t have, that was what got me. I liked seeing it. I liked seeing him getting all riled up when no one was holding a candle to him to begin with.
It meant he felt something outside of a temporary curiosity I once believed he had.
I wasn’t naive or delusional enough to think there would be something more to this by the end of these five weeks, or that we were preordained for something more.
Nonetheless, wherever this was going, I’d had my boarding pass already stamped for the destination ready to go.
“You know me so well.” Stepping back from where I was pressed against the desk, giving myself enough room to lower my mouth down to ghost against his thigh. His balls clenched when I blew on them. “Maybe a little too well.”
I supposed that should’ve been a scary thought—for someone I just met to already start seeing the deeper parts of me and connecting the dots it took most people years to do. Blake was always some kind of special case, though. A paradox I needed to stop trying to question.
I suctioned my mouth around the spot I’d pinched, sinking my teeth down into the soft, meaty flesh. The musk of him was intoxicating, the slightly salty taste of his skin mouthwatering. I ran my tongue over it, tracing the edges of my teeth where they would soon be leaving a lasting impression.
I caught his thigh in my hand before he could clap it against the side of my head and pin me against him. I sucked on his skin, rolling the spot between my teeth a few times until I got it nice and tender, enough for it to bruise, at least, and stay that way for a few days.